


Tweek's Hot Toddies

by metrophobic



Series: Yaoi Hands [2]
Category: South Park
Genre: Canon Era, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Or Is he?, Trans Tweek Tweak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 02:19:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14178408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metrophobic/pseuds/metrophobic
Summary: Tweek has a secret. Or DOES he?!





	Tweek's Hot Toddies

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Yes, I'm qualified to write this.

“Hey, _Tweek!_ My man!”

Tweek nervously chewed his lip and hurriedly yanked on his shirt when he heard Cartman approach. Drawing that guy’s attention, well, it was never a good thing. And his fears were confirmed when Cartman clapped a meaty hand on his shoulder and winked knowingly.

“You’re one of the guys, but y’know, you shouldn’t be changing in the boy’s locker room. Some of us don’t wanna see that shit, it confuses our fragile minds.”

“ _What!_ ” Tweek yelped. He had literally no clue whatsoever what Cartman was on about.

“You know, those little mosquito bites!” Cartman laughed and patted Tweek’s chest. Tweek jerked sharply away. “I know it was easier in third grade, when we were kids, but now we’re growing up. And so you need to start wearing a binder. None of us want to see titties in the boy’s locker room, okay.”

“ _Ah!_ A _what?_ ” Tweek was shaking all over. This conversation about his chest was getting _incredibly_ awkward, and he hated awkward situations. _Hated_ them. This was almost as bad as when the Asians decided to make him gay a few months ago. Sure, he got an awesome boyfriend out of the deal, and plenty of money, but he still hated being put on the spot. He always did.

Cartman heaved a great sigh. “We all know the truth, Tweek. I mean, it’s okay, I know _I_ don’t care.” He shrugged, and then murmured, almost like an afterthought: “Though your boyfriend might.”

“Know _what?_ ” Tweek clenched his fists. This conversation was already starting to get on his nerves. He made a little snarling noise. “Just spit it out, man!”

“You know, about your…” Cartman coughed into his hand. “You know. Being trans-ginger.”

“ _What!?”_ Tweek all-but screamed it out this time. Cartman patted him on the back.

“It’s okay, bro,” he said with a grin. “None of us care. You’ll always be one of the guys! Just, y’know. Cover up them titties, we don’t wanna see them. Might wanna make sure your clitoris doesn’t hang out, too.”

“Oh _god,_ ” Tweek gasped out, tugging at his hair. He had no idea what Cartman was even talking about, but this conversation was making him extremely uncomfortable. He _knew_ he had some extra chub on him, maybe not as much as Cartman or even Clyde, but he was still self-conscious about it. Leave it to Cartman to rip on him. Cartman always did shit like that: eagerly pointing out the flaws in everyone else around him so that he wouldn’t have to recognize them in himself—let alone work on them.

Dating Craig was helping to form Tweek into a better person, though. For example, recognizing when he had it with other people’s shit, instead of just standing there and putting up with it. So, with a scowl on his face, he grabbed up the rest of his things and walked away without another word.

“Hey, man,” Clyde said as Tweek passed by him in the hallway. Tweek stopped in his tracks. Clyde gave him a fistbump. “Just want you to know, I get it. You’re still one of us. I’m totally cool with it.”

“ _Uuuugh,_ ” Tweek groaned, and pulled at his hair again as Clyde continued past him. Just when he was about to reach his classroom, a voice came on over the loudspeaker.

“Will the following students please report to the principal’s office: Tweek.” There was a pause. “Thank you.”

“Oh, god,” Tweek muttered. “Jesus, what now. I didn’t _do_ anything! I can’t be in trouble!” He knocked on the Principal’s door, and at the answering call of, “ _entre_ _vous,_ ”he promptly entered. An ominous air hung about that place, like always. The last time he was in the Principal’s office, it was because he got into a fist fight with Craig, and PC Principal had to educate them on strange concepts like limits and “safe words.” It was kind of nice, though. Since _that_ bizarre situation, all Tweek had to do was say “truck” when Craig was being an asshole, and he’d stop.

But he was by himself this time. Tweek took a seat, nervously darting his gaze around the room. PC Principal was lifting weights behind his desk, as per usual. He set them both down and straightened up in his seat, staring Tweek down like a wolf about to devour a rabbit.

Or at least, that’s what Tweek guessed. He couldn’t see what went on behind those mirrored lenses, and that made it all so much worse.

“Got a note from an anonymous source today,” PC Principal began. “Said you were transgender, got harassed in the boy’s locker room for still being pre-op, that correct?”

“Um,” Tweek fidgeted nervously in his seat. This was all happening so fast. “No?”

Another knock came at the door. “ _Oui, entrevous,_ ” said PC Principal. The door opened and Mr. Mackey walked in.

Oh, god.

“So, we heard that you might be having issues about your gender identity, m’kay?”

“No!” Tweek said again. He was starting to get angry.

“Now, uh, don’t worry, m’kay? We’ve already called your parents with resources and support, and I’ve informed your gym teacher that you are still allowed to change in the locker room, m’kay. Don’t let any of the boys give you a hard time, m’kay. Uh, the _other_ boys.”

“ _Aah!_ I was _already_ changing in the boys’ room!” Tweek replied.

“And we fully support that, m’kay,” said Mr. Mackey. “It’s just that, well, uh, when you reach a certain age, Tweek… you’ll start to see some _changes_ in your body, m’kay.”

This suddenly got ten times more awkward. No, a hundred times. Tweek waved his hands frantically. “I— I _know_ that!” he said quickly. “ _Agh!_ Can I go now?”

“This information is important for you to know,” said PC Principal. “As a progressive school, it’s important that everyone in the student body is comfortable and accepted, especially our more vulnerable populations. It’s cool, bro, we’re all on your side.”

“Now, uh, the other boys might be a little _confused_ by what they’re seeing, m’kay,” Mr. Mackey continued. “So we’re gonna have a little assembly tomorrow to clear these things up.”

“We’re not gonna tolerate any bullying in the locker room of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender _or_ others in the LGBT+ category,” PC Principal added quickly. “So we plan on educating the school on the appropriate way to handle these issues. Since you’re a boy no matter what you look like on the outside, we’re gonna make it clear that you are still to be treated like one.”

“But—”

“Now here’s $200, and we’ll see you tomorrow.” Well, at least there was money.

Still dazed and really, _really_ confused, Tweek accepted the bills and left the office. By that point it was the end of the day, so he went to his locker to rearrange his things and pack up.

“Hey, Tweek.” It was Craig’s voice. Tweek slammed his locker shut and whirled around to face him. Boy, was he glad this day was over. He couldn’t _take it_ anymore. They’d walk home holding hands, and then Tweek would have dinner with his parents, and it would all go back to normal tomorrow. It was just one of those days. It had to be.

Craig didn’t look very happy to see him, though. Tweek frowned when he didn’t take his hand, like he normally did. In an attempt to bridge the gap of weirdness between them, Tweek reached for Craig’s hand instead, but Craig shoved them both in his pockets. “What!” Tweek exclaimed.

“I dunno,” Craig said. His expression, his tone, everything about him was glum. It was making Tweek feel like shit, too. Stupid Craig. “Everyone’s saying you’re trans. But I’m gay.”

“So _what?_ ”

“If you’re becoming a girl,” Craig explained, “I don’t think we can date anymore.”

“ _Rrrgh!_ ” Tweek stomped his foot in frustration. “I’m not _becoming_ a girl! I’m a _boy!_ And everyone thinks I’m— they think that I _used_ to be a girl!” He whined and pulled at his shirt for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. “I don’t get _any_ of it!”

“Wait,” said Craig. He was very clearly trying to process all this. “So you used to be a girl, but you’re a boy now?”

“ _No!_ ” Tweek shouted. “I’ve _always_ been a boy!”

“Well yeah, I know it means you’ve always been a boy _inside,_ but…” Craig sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t think we can date anymore.”

“ _Why?_ ” This whole thing was so _stupid._ And so was Craig. Tweek could barely wrap his head around it in the first place, and Craig was just making things worse, throwing all these confusing dynamics in the mix.

“Because I’m _gay,_ ” said Craig. “I don’t wanna break up, but it doesn’t seem like we’d be a gay couple anymore.”

“I don’t wanna break up either,” Tweek said sadly. Craig hemmed and hawwed for a minute.

“Maybe we better ask those Asian girls,” he suggested. Tweek nodded. After a few more seconds of careful deliberation, Craig reached for his hand, and he squeezed it.

The Asian girls were perched at their normal place upon the stairs, giggling and showing each other their sketchpads. When the school’s gay power couple approached them, they all broke out into smiles. “Hi!” they called out, practically in unison.

“Uh, hi,” said Craig, still firmly holding Tweek’s hand. “We wanted to know—”

“ _What the Hell is that?!_ ” Tweek screamed. One of the girls was holding a painting and it was _him_ —definitely him—standing sad and shirtless in front of a mirror. His reflection was wearing nothing but boxers, its physique trim and firm with muscle, in a way that he _definitely_ was not in real life. The “real” Tweek, gazing at his reflection, had on a short black tank-top and those same boxers, but it looked more like himself: with a pudgy belly that hung out over the waistband and a babyish face with round cheeks. Weirdly enough, they gave him _those_ details, but didn’t draw his budding moobs. His chest was entirely flat.

There was also a tear sliding his cheek.

“ _Sofuto toranzu boi da ne,_ ” one of the other Asian girls whispered to the artist, and they both giggled together.

“What?” said Craig, clearly annoyed.

Tweek was shaking hard, even while holding Craig’s hand, which _really_ meant this was something terrible. He caught sight of another picture: a drawing of himself and Craig. He was wearing another of those weird tank-tops and sitting on what looked like the closed lid of a toilet, smiling adoringly down at Craig who was knelt beside him. Craig had a needle in his hand, and was ready to stab him in the thigh.

That was _not_ something Tweek would be smiling about.

He _hated_ needles.

“ _Aaaaahhhh!_ ” he screamed, and tore off through the school, toward the entrance. He _had_ to get out of there. The Asians were doing something else to him, and he didn’t really understand what it meant, but he did _not_ want to get a shot. No fucking way in Hell.

“Tweek, wait!” he thought he heard Craig call after him. But he didn’t wait. Not by a long shot.

 

* * *

 

“Well, son,” Tweek’s father said over dinner that evening. “Your counselor called today.”

Oh, no. Tweek paused where he was attempting to skewer a bite of meatloaf onto his fork, then opted to take a slurp of coffee instead.

“Is there anything you’d like to talk to us about, sweetie?” asked his mother.

“No!” Tweek immediately blurted out, because he knew it was going to be futile. Sure enough, his father’s face broke out into a large grin.

“Well,” he said brightly, “ _we_ heard that you’re _trans._ ”

“ _Auuugh._ ” Tweek shoved his face down onto his plate. This was getting to be a weekly occurrence, sometimes even more. He didn’t even care that he was getting mashed potatoes in his hair.

“We’ve _never_ been more proud of you, my son!” Tweek’s father gushed. Tweek groaned. “We always suspected that you might’ve actually been trapped in the wrong body. That must explain why you’re such a spaz. And here we thought it was just because you were gay!”

“ _Uuuughhhh._ ”

“I want to be the _best_ father I can be! I wanna give you money, so _much_ money, and we’ve already made an appointment for Dr. Norris this Friday! We can start getting you on hormone therapy, so that you feel more comfortable in your own skin.”

“ _Nooo,_ ” Tweek whined. He didn’t know what that meant, but that didn’t sound good. The part about the doctor, anyway. He was perfectly fine with money. Maybe he and Craig could go somewhere fun, like Elitch’s. Or they could buy a friend for Stripe #4.

“We’ll have to talk surgery, too,” his dad prattled on. “Get those little fellas cut off your chest.”

Oh, god. Not the boobs thing again. “I’m a _boy!_ ” Tweek hollered. He banged his forehead against the table, over and over. “I’m a _boy! A boy! A boy!_ ”

“Yes, of course you are!” Tweek’s father patted him on the back. “You’re our son, our precious son, you always have been. It’s what’s on the _inside_ that matters.” He sounded like he was starting to get choked up. Tweek screamed again.

“I’ve _always_ been a boy!” he yelled. He got up and ran upstairs to his bedroom, because he couldn’t fucking take this shit anymore.

“Tweek!” his mother called. Tweek heard his father gently shush her.

“Just let him go,” he said. “Let… _him…_ go.”

Tweek slammed the door, then buried his face into his pillow and screamed for a few more minutes, furiously kicking his legs. Then his phone beeped at him.

It was a FaceTime request—from Craig.

“Hey Tweek.”

“Hi.” Tweek scowled at him.

“Look,” said Craig, “I talked to the Asian girls, and they said it wasn’t real. So I guess we’re back to being gay again.”

“So _what?!_ ” Tweek snapped. “So _what_ if they said it wasn’t real! There’s still gonna be an assembly tomorrow! The whole school’s gonna think I’m trans-ginger now!”

“Yeah,” said Craig. “That kinda sucks.”

“It _does suck,_ ” Tweek snarled. “It’s— _nnngh!_ I can’t _deal_ with this, Craig!”

“Well,” Craig pointed out, “you’re gonna have to. Or find a way to stop it.”

“Yeah,” Tweek said. He twisted some of his hair around his fingers.

“We could just boycott the stupid assembly,” Craig suggested.

“That won’t help!” Tweek protested. “It’s still gonna be announced to the _whole school_ that I’m— that I’m— _auugh!_ ”

“Maybe you could just make an announcement yourself,” Craig offered up.

A light bulb went off in Tweek’s head. “I got it,” he said softly to himself, and smiled.

“What?”

“I _got_ it!” Tweek repeated, this time so Craig could hear it. “I know what I can do to fix this. Thank you, Craig.”

“You’re welcome, I guess.” Craig was obviously very confused, but he smiled back anyway.

 

* * *

 

The assembly was just as embarrassing and awkward as one might imagine. It was so important that they didn’t hold it in the gym like a lot of their assemblies, but in the auditorium itself. Tweek sat backstage the entire time, listening as first Mr. Mackey gave a speech and then PC Principal. Photos of himself panned across the screen, set to “Clocks” by Coldplay. He didn’t want to hear the audience’s reactions, or even know what kind of pictures they were showing, so he mashed his hands over his ears and curled up into a ball right there on his seat.

Faintly, he heard the rush of applause, and then Mr. Mackey’s voice saying something over the microphone. Tweek dropped his hands to listen.

There was dead silence.

“Uh,” Mr. Mackey tried again. “Tweek?”

“ _Oh god!_ ” It was time for him to go out there. Tweek closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and whispered to himself, “You’ve got this. I’ve got this.” Then he marched on out there.

Everyone cheered and clapped as Tweek approached the podium. He cleared his throat and shuffled the papers in his hands. “Um, hi,” he said. “I— I decided that instead of giving a speech, I’ve written a song instead. Thanks, Mr. Mackey.”

“Uh, I don’t know if we approved a song, m’kay…”

His voice floated over in Tweek’s direction, but Tweek ignored it as he plopped down right in front of that good ol’ grand piano, spread out his music, and played a scale to warm himself up.

Then he slammed his hands onto the keys, over and over, the dissonant chords ringing out harshly across the filled auditorium.

“ _I’M A_ **_BOY!_ ** _I’VE ALWAYS BEEN A_ **_BOY!_ ** _WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ALL OF YOUUUU!?!?_ ”

The audience applauded again, then it crescendoed into a chorus of whoops and cheers. Clearly the message was resonating with them. Tweek kept on going.

“ _I WAS BORN A BOY! I WILL DIE A BOY! AAAAGGH! STOP PUTTING ME! IN! A! BOX! AAH! I’M **NOT!** TRANS! GINGER! I SUPPORT EVERYONE’S IDENTITY BUT I! NEVER! WAS! A! GIRL! WAH!” _

The applause died down.

 _“I JUST HAVE BOOBS BECAUSE I’M FUCKING CHUBBY!_ ” Plunk. Plunk. Plunk. “ _GAH! DO YOU HEAR THAT?! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?! AND I DON’T! HAVE! A CLITORIS! I JUST HAVE! A! SMALL! PENIS! AAAAAH!_ ”

The song had reached its conclusion. Tweek wiped his brow and then collected his music sheets. Exit stage left.

Craig was waiting for him backstage. He smiled and patted Tweek on the shoulder. “Good job, Tweek,” he said. “I don’t know if I could ever admit something like that about my penis. I’m really proud of you.”

“Yeah,” Tweek replied, still a little breathless. Craig took his hand, and together they walked home, gay as could be.

Five years later, when they started touching each other’s penises, Craig made a very delightful discovery, filled with magic and wonder.

Tweek was actually a grower, not a show-er.

And they all lived happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy April Fools, fuckers!


End file.
